three splendid dreams

The first part of the first dream is about cutting shapes into marble. I find myself in some sort of college master’s level stone cutting class. As the class develops the forms are cut into two pieces of marble that fit and interlock to make a thick artistic bridge that interlocks, so that people can walk under them, through them and over them as a bridge. The real art in the clever connection. It can be shaken in an earthquake and not come apart. As we go, it's quite detailed, the cutting of the shapes become rounded and their interlocking is also made with round forms and round spaces and they become increasingly lovelier and increasingly clever and stupendously complex. It is a beautiful sight to behold. And I’m still amazed by recalling it.

The second part of that dream involves the teacher of this marble carving class pulling me aside into her private office glassed off from the working studio. The details are too sexually explicit to mention. She wants to do only two specific things with me, apparently fascinated with my extreme thinness, something totally foreign to her and to all the other teachers and most of the other students. Oddly she leaves the curtain partially opened to the adjoining office so that its occupant might see what she’s doing with me. I wonder about that a bit concerned. As expected the second occupant does enter their own office, sees our activity and enters and joins her playing with me. Then a third. Actually, this was the best part of the dream. Better even than the amazing marble shapes. One after another they each had their way with me and it was all great. All of it. The white marble, the hefty women. All of it.

The second dream is very odd by it recalling within it a previous incident that I finally realized didn’t happen. I realize within the dream that I’m recalling a previous dream that I didn’t actually dream. Nonetheless the episode is extremely graphic. I’m telling this story to lost friend now reappearing in dream form. In the false dream somebody stole a vehicle that I actually did own previously so I stole another one to compensate my loss but this one is much better than the car that I owned. I don’t know what type but it’s ace. And expensive. I drove it all over the place, all over Colorado, I saw all the sights, impressive geography, astounding colorful views, and with my black Belgian sheepdog in the back. And that’s unreal right there because all three of those dogs insisted on sitting up front with her paw on my lap. We saw a lot of truly beautiful sights. Recalling it is actually really cool. When I finished using up the stolen car and finished with it, I parked the car and took Uber home to distance the vehicle from myself so I wouldn’t be busted. But I didn’t care about leaving traces, like dog hair, I didn’t detail the car before dropping it off. I didn’t care about leaving clues to who stole it, loose dog hair in the back seat. I didn’t wipe my own prints. I just didn’t care. I was all, so here’s your car back. Hope nothing happens to it until you find it or before it’s returned to you, whomever. And that’s all. And then within the dream I think to myself, “Oh wow man, that didn’t actually happen. I'm telling this lost friend a dream. Too bad because the whole thing is so ace.” I tell the lost friend, “I guess I dreamed that once.” But awake I know that I didn’t, or I would remember something so ace as that criminal activity and blithe attitude.

The third dream is exploring a new city with two other people, someone in the dreamworld close as a brother, and his wife. The city is mostly low class compressed with low ugly buildings and signs over signs and incredibly interesting to me. I’d like to stop anywhere along the way and explore on foot the shops, explore in more detail what’s going on. I say so in the car whizzing by all that and my companions are not impressed. They don't care to stop and explore anything. It’s like Hong Kong type of intensity. Or more like Macau. There’s tons of stuff going on that is foreign. His wife is singing in the car beautifully. Her own songs. Not with the radio, just singing, and her voice, her range, her holding a tune is quite incredible. I tell them how impressive that is. It could be her profession. They both answer it’s just something she does all the time.

Finally we stop at an Italian restaurant and everything on the menu is odd. Everything is something I never heard of so I just randomly pick something. And here is where the adventure turns sour. We are seated way in the back. In a booth with no opposing seat. A single long booth with a table in front and the view of the entire back portion of the restaurant, the seating furthermost away from everything else. Isolated, actually. The wife is seated first, then her husband who I know better leaving a very large space between them then himself near the outer edge then myself crammed uncomfortably close actually shoulder to shoulder with him right at the edge and struggling for comfortable space. I hate that. I don't like the irrational seating. The spacing that he is insisting on does not make sense. I try to push him closer to his wife to fill the empty space and create more table space for myself but he solidly resists. After some jostling I ask him impatiently, “What the fuck are you doing here, you asshole? This is ridiculous!” And the seating was horrible. Lumpy and busted springs. Torn covering. Red. Ugly. He said, “My wife’s gotta a problem with bugs crawling all around and up her butt.”

“Aw shit. The restaurant people knew that. That’s why they isolated us. It’s why the guy fumigated the seats before we sat down! Why did we even come here? Why go out at all? Why doesn’t she have her butt bugs cured? FFS!"

I woke up disgusted. But oddly pleased with the thought of stealing an exotic car, and further pleased with identifying a false dream within a real dream. That never happened before. And recalling with a great deal of fondness the weird sex portion of the first dream. I could write a whole separate porn story on that bit alone. But nice people like yourselves don’t care to read about that.